


revelation without reprieve

by SpectralSkyscraper



Series: judas and his betrayal [2]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: 90s crime kids ayy, Angst, Blood, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Michael Is A Douche, Murder, Trev needs a hug, Violence, r slur, young!Trikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralSkyscraper/pseuds/SpectralSkyscraper
Summary: It stings when Michael says it.





	revelation without reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> its almost 11 pm im tired heres some upsetti spaghetti 90s crime babies hurting each other's feelings

It stings when Michael says it.

 

"What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you, Trevor!?"

 

Now, don't get Trev wrong, the words themselves don't hurt. _What are you, a psycho? You some kind of retard? You're fuckin' insane, you know that?_ He's had variations of that question hurled at him by countless people.

 

People. Mikey ascends that label. Mikey is his everything, his sun and stars, perfection and ruthlessness personified.

 

_That_ is why it stings when without thinking, Trevor shoots the bank clerk- the one that had the code to the main holding safe, and also, evidently, a locked and loaded nine millimeter pistol nearly aimed just between Michael's eyes.

 

" _T'_ what the fuck! We needed him!" Brad levels at him. Trevor is still attempting to breathe after the crushing blow Michael has just thrown at him, and doesn't bother to respond.

 

He's too distracted by the burning frustration and _disappointment_ in Michael's eyes to give one of his usual flippant retorts.

 

Michael finally unclenches his fists and huffs a sigh. "Fuck it. Fuck it. This job's trashed anyhow. Brad, get the car pulled up in front of the doors."

 

Brad runs to do as he's told. Trevor nearly scrunches up his nose in distaste but is reminded of the cooling blood between his fingers and on on his cheeks and splattered on Michael's shoes from the poor employee just enough to smooth his features out into a crushed apathetic default.

 

"T.", Michael says.

 

The bank was empty when they got there, a shithole in the sticks, it is empty now, just the two of them as the glass double doors swing shut with a jingle of the bell to signal Brad's departure. Trevor can't bring his eyes up from his blood-spattered shoes.

 

"Trev."

 

Trevor pockets his gun. His hands don't shake. He's still hurting and Michael doesn't care that his world has been turned upside-down. Sirens are closing in.

 

" _Trevor!_ "

 

Trevor's eyes snap up to Michael's. The anger is no longer there but Mikey looks like he's annoyed. Like he's dealing with a petulant child. Like he's dealing with a lunatic. Trevor tightens both his hands into fists and abruptly turns, starting to stomp-walk to the door, outside of which Brad is idling an innocent looking tan Honda Civic. Trevor's got his hand pulling on the push-only door, _goddamnit,_ when Michael speaks up.

 

"Trev, what the hell was tha-"

 

Trevor is spitting out the words so harshly even he is taken aback. "Fuck you, Michael." Not 'M' or 'Mike' or 'Mikey'. Michael.

 

He can hear Michael more or less choke on air as he slams himself into the passenger seat next to Brad. He ignores the sound of the left backseat door shutting as Michael climbs in as well.

 

The three of them are speeding down the road in the opposite direction of the police station before the cops ever pull into the parking lot. Trevor's still reeling. Michael is the one person who's never sneered at his impulsiveness and rash actions. He's never called him stupid or crazy or even implied it. Until now. 

 

Trev is out of the car as soon as they pull up to the safehouse. He's got to get something to drown out the sting of Michael's words. He pulls off the mask that provided as his disguise in the bank and sheds his jacket, dumping it on the ground. He feels like he's burning up.

 

He yanks his motorbike out from underneath the worn blue tarp covering it and is speeding out into the city in search of reprieve. Michael doesn't follow him.


End file.
